Empty Barstool
by bconn369
Summary: How will Mary cope when her partner is taken?


**A/N: **So this is my first story, and I hope you guys like it. BIG thanks to BuJyo for helping me get it ready. Sorry it's kinda sad, I promise to write happier in the future!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own In Plain Sight. Or Mary. Or Marshall. Pity.

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Two beers sat on the counter, one untouched, but opened. The other only slightly depleted, mostly being manhandled by a pair of strong, slightly shaking hands.

Her eyes kept flicking over to the other bottle, as if waiting for someone to take it. Waiting for someone to slide onto that empty stool.

No one did.

The bar was empty, thankfully. She didn't want to see anyone. This was _her_ time. This was _their_ place.

A soft, bluesy jazz song came through the radio behind the counter and Mary sighed, wondering who changed the station from its normal rock to this. It was appropriate, considering…

"Dammit." She took a quick drink of her beer, hardly tasting it. She brushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear and looked up at the photo on the wall. It had been put up years ago, a memento kept by the owner.

He looked so alive in it.

"Marshall…" Her voice caught on his name and she blinked away the burning behind her eyes.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but I have a few things to say, and this seems like a much better place to say them than out there with everyone staring. I'm not one for funerals. You know that."

She rubbed at her eyes, suddenly tired, wishing she could have said this to his face, instead of just saying it.

"I don't think I ever told you, Marshall, what you meant to me. Not really. We were partners, and you were my best friend, but I—" she choked on the words, but made herself force them out. "I loved you." She swallowed and gripped her bottle tightly. "I loved you so much. Just the way you wanted me to. I really loved you."

She shook her head, feeling more and more like an idiot. It would have been hard to tell him this, but she should have done it. He should have known. Had he been wondering all these years?

"You were always there for me, even when I didn't want you to be. You saw through all of my crap, all of the messes that I made. Raph, Faber, even Jinx and Brandi. You stuck by me when everyone else gave me up. We've been through hell and back, and I honestly don't know what I'm going to do without you."

The photo of him on the wall blurred before her and she looked down, staring at nothing, her words just rambling now.

"What am I going to do on a long road trip when there's nothing on the radio and you're not there to tell me more than I ever wanted to know about what we're seeing? When I'm complaining about moths, who's going to spout off every detail about their mating habits and why they fly to the light?"

She smiled softly at the memories flashing before her.

"When I have a nightmare, who is going to calm me down, hold me, tell me everything is going to be all right? Who is going to take all the crap I dish out and fling it right back in my face?"

She sighed softly, turning her bottle on the counter. "Twenty-five years, Marshall. Twenty-five years of being partners and best friends and dealing with idiot witnesses and Stan…and it all stops because you had to protect me still. I never needed you to protect me, you big idiot, but you did it anyway. I'd say thanks, but I'm still pissed at you. If you'd have just let me be, we'd still have taken the guy down and you'd be here drinking with me."

She heard him in her head, scolding her in his low, droll voice and she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ok, I'd probably be shot in the arm, but it wouldn't be you in the gut."

It came again: _Better me than you, Mare._

She smiled. "Nah uh."

_Yeah huh._

She shook her head. "Still an idiot."

_Yeah, well, death doesn't change much. Just scenery and wardrobe and physicality. It's really quite interesting, actually._

She chuckled and turned to glare at him. Her heart caught in her chest as she realized he wasn't there, would never be there again. "I miss you," she whispered, staring at the stool next to her where he'd sat so often.

_I'm right here, Mary. I'll always be right here._

Her eyes flooded and she buried her head into her arms on the counter, shuddering softly as the tears flowed.

_Shh, shh, Mare, it's ok. I'm here. I'm right here._

For a moment, she thought she could feel his fingers in her hair, stroking her, soothing her, and it was almost more painful than she could bear. But something, someone, somewhere, was calming her somehow, and soon the tears dried. For the moment, at least.

She raised her head, brushed her hair off of her face, and stared up at the picture again. "It's a totally screwed up world, Marshall."

_Always has been. It's why we do what we do._

"Why'd you have to go? We had so much we could still do."

_Dunno, Mare. Sucks, doesn't it, being apart? But you can still do it._

"Not without you, Doofus."

_It's possible to work with someone else, you know. A partnership is based on trust and respect and ability, and you can find that with any number of capable people—_

"No." She shook her head swiftly. "No. You're my partner, Marshall. You."

_But I'm gone, Mary._

"I know. Jerk."

_Sorry._

"I know," she whispered, another tear leaking out of her eye and trickling softly down her cheek.

A noise from behind her made her turn, wiping at her cheeks. An older man in a dark suit came forward hesitantly, an envelope in his hand.

"Mary Shannon?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, what?"

"Marshall Mann asked me to give you this if he…if ever…he wanted you to have it." He thrust the envelope at her, and she stared at it, not comprehending.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Dominick Raynes, Ms. Shannon. I'm a friend of Mr. Mann's brother, Todd. I'm a lawyer, but obviously not his."

She took the envelope and looked at it.

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "It was sealed when he gave it to me. But he was insistent that it was for you only." He touched her arm softly. "I'm so sorry."

She nodded, not looking up when he left.

"Dammit, Marshall," she muttered as she started to open it. "What the hell did you want to say that you couldn't tell me?"

She pulled the paper out and unfolded it, and, seeing the neat, tidy scrawl of her partner, took a deep breath and began reading.

_Dear Mary-_

_If you're reading this, then it means that I'm gone and no longer able to tell you this personally, which I regret more than I can say. Speaking with someone face-to-face, having that sort of communication, renders the words much more valuable and enables the speaker and recipient to have a mutual discussion, which is preferable and better suited to understanding than declaring things on paper. But it seems that paper is all that is available to me at this point._

_I'm so sorry, Mary, that I've had to leave you, for whatever reason. If I had any choice, I never would have done so without either your permission, which I doubt I'd ever get, or a certainty that you were protected enough without me, which I doubt you'd ever be. I don't want you to be alone, ever. You are, and have been, the only partner that mattered this much to me, the best friend I've ever had, my only friend, my truest friend. I've loved you so long in so many ways. You are a rare jewel, a treasure and a gift, and I can only call myself fortunate to have been in your life._

_I want you to know, Mary, that I know. I know what you have a hard time saying, and why. I know what you feel. I know you're probably beating yourself up about it. Don't. I know. I have known. I've felt it. I know you, and love you, more than you can possibly comprehend. Don't worry about what you didn't get to say. I knew._

_I don't know what the future will bring, my love, and I have no idea if this letter will even be needed. But as I sit here tonight, watching you sleep, dreaming peacefully, looking so much like an angel, except for your snoring, which I love, I can't help but fear that something will separate us that we will have no control over. I hope for both of us that I'm the one who is taken first, if either of us must. I couldn't bear living without you. But you are strong and you can make it._

_If you ever need me, miss me, want me to hold you, just ask. I'll be there. I don't know how, but I know that I will. I'll never ever leave you, Mary, my love, my heart. You're probably laughing at me, rolling your eyes, wishing I would get on with it. Good. I want you to remember me just as I was, irritating and stubborn and wise and clever and ridiculously attractive. I'll try to send you random facts as I can somehow. I know how much you love that._

_I love you, Mary Shannon, with all my heart. Always have. Always will._

_See you in your dreams. I'll be there, I promise._

_Come to me soon…but not too soon._

_Yours,_

_Marshall_

She laughed. She couldn't help it. Marshall was Marshall. He probably cried as he wrote it, the little sap.

_Did not._

"Oh, I bet you did," she murmured, fingering the paper lovingly. "So you knew all along."

_Yep._

"Why didn't you tell me?"

_What, and have you beat the crap out of me? I have some dignity, you know._

"Not much, nitwit, not much."

_Gee, thanks. You knew, didn't you? Somewhere inside, you knew that I knew, right?_

"I hoped," she whispered. "I hoped you did. I'm sorry."

_Don't be. I love you._

She gazed up at the picture of him, of them on the wall and smiled through her tears. "I love you, Marshall." She reached for the beers on the counter and toasted them to him. "Here's to the best partnership ever." She took a swig from hers and set his on the counter, liquid still untouched.

"Mom?"

Mary turned to the door, and saw her two children standing there in black, their identical deep blue eyes red and swollen, but dry.

"Mom, it's time," her daughter said, coming over and taking her hand, giving her a handkerchief.

"Thanks, Sadie. They're finally ready for us?" she asked, dabbing at her eyes and wiping her cheeks. "Took 'em long enough, I don't know why they take such trouble. Just stick him in and be done with it."

Her son spoke up softly as he came towards them. "The funeral services and procession have been an important cultural tradition dating back to before Ancient Rome, where there was a public procession to the tomb or pyre of the deceased in which the survivors bore masks of departed ancestors, and were accompanied by dancers, musicians, and entertainers. Greek tradition, however, would have a solemn, silent procession of mourning through city streets. In West African tradition, funeral proceedings can last up to a week, due to the animist celebrations. The females of the family of the deceased may mourn and lament to a near frenzied degree, and festivities are heightened by alcohol, which the participating musicians, entertains, and other supporting males may partake of."

Mary stared up at her son with her mouth gaping. "Holy crap, Peewee," she said, looking mildly amused, but mostly shocked. "Where the hell did you pick that up?"

Sadie snorted, covering her mouth instantly. "Yeah, David, they teach you all that your first semester of college? Crazy brainiac."

David sneered down at his sister and adjusted his father's badge with its black band in his hand, then looked at his mother with a smile. "Dad taught me a few things over the years. Mostly to read and learn things for myself. He insisted that being well-informed and well-educated was a mark of great wisdom and made for even better marshals." He grinned suddenly, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Said I was supposed to tell you that, and give you any relevant tidbits of info when I could."

"What a geek," she whispered, looking at her son fondly.

_Thanks, sweetie._

"Daddy would," Sadie said, rolling her eyes, pushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Yes, he would," Mary agreed. She sniffed once then forced a smile. "Well, shall we make our grand procession?"

"If we have to," her daughter mumbled, "I'd rather just go home and sleep, instead of all this pomp and circumstance." Then she took her mother's hand. "Mom, you should wear your ring."

Mary looked down at her bare fingers, sighed, and nodded. They had both done this, for the job, keeping their marriage as unobvious as possible. She didn't care anymore. She took the chain from her neck and slid the ring off, fingering it lovingly before placing it on her finger. "Did someone put your dad's on him?"

"I did," David assured her, taking her arm. "Everything's ready, Mom, we just have to stand there."

"Thanks, Peewee. That I can do." She glanced up once more at the photo: her and Marshall at a party for Stan's 30 years as a US Marshal in this very bar, a 2 year old Sadie in her arms, a 4 year old David in his, both laughing and Marshall looking at Mary with all the love those blue eyes could hold. He always looked at her like that. Always.

"I love you, Marshall Mann," she whispered. Her children tightened their hold on her, and began to lead her from the bar, out into the sunlight, and to the waiting limo.

She almost missed it, but somehow, it came anyway:

_I love you, too, Mary. See you soon._

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**Thanks so much for reading! Now review! Um, but be kind, it's my first try. =)**


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